


all things die

by purgat0rypals



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Choking, Dark, Horror, M/M, dark!anakin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 03:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5692507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purgat0rypals/pseuds/purgat0rypals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is inside Anakin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all things die

i.

  
He can feel it inside of him.    
  
He can't remember how it got there. Maybe it was there all along. Maybe it had been creeping up on him, digging under his fingernails and crawling under his skin. Injecting itself into his heart and flowing out through his veins. He can't remember. He can't remember. He can't remember.    
  
He loves Obi Wan. He doesn't think he's ever loved anything more. He's memorized the curves and cracks of his lover's body. The roll of his shoulders into his back. The scar above his right hip. The slenderness of his fingers. His favorite color is his eyes and his favorite place is his arms.    
  
Or it was. Not after that night. Nothing was the same after that first night.    
  
It's dark as sweaty skin glides across skin and he's hot, he's hot, he's hot. He kisses the other man roughly as he drags his fingers down across Obi Wan's collarbone and chest. He breaks away-- his pupils blown wide in the darkness-- as he looks down and his heart stops with fear. The paleness of Obi Wan's skin is replaced with long, black gashes that snarl in the moonlight. His fingers are long and crooked and sharp as they glisten and drip with the dark crimson color of blood.    
  
He doesn't make a sound as he scrambles back off the bed and falls to the floor as he presses himself up against the far wall. Obi Wan sits up in bed, his jaw opening at an unnatural angle as it snaps and grinds against bone and he makes his way towards him. The gashes across his chest seep inky blackness into his skin as it spreads throughout his skin and his eyes roll back into his head-- a horrid white replacing his once favorite blue. He can't do anything but watch in absolute horror as the other man slowly limps closer. His vision blurs and shakes as Obi Wan crouches down next to him. The smell of death and burning flesh floods his nose and makes his eyes sting and for a split second, he's surrounded by fire; surrounded by fire, surrounded by fire.    
  
Obi Wan's hand comes down to rest heavy and steady against his shoulder as everything snaps back into place. He can't tear his eyes away from the smooth skin of the other man's chest where, not seconds ago, it had been blackened and bloody. He feels a rough hand grip his chin as Obi Wan forces their eyes to meet. They're the blue that he remembers from when they first met all those years ago and his shoulders go lax with relief.    
  
"Jesus, Anakin, your eyes."   
  
He looks down at the hand on his shoulder and swallows thickly as blackness starts to creep up Obi Wan's hand; red, swollen blisters forming under his fingernails.    
  
"I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine."    
  
"Anakin--"   
  
"This isn't real."   
  
He shuts his eyes tightly.    
  
"This isn't real."    
  
He can still feel the darkness working its way up Obi Wan's arm-- charring his skin and cracking his fingers.    
  
"This isn't real."   
  
He's talking to himself. He's talking to himself. He's talking to himself.    
  
"Anakin!"    
  
He's hot again and he opens his eyes to see the flames surrounding them. Obi Wan's eyes are white as blood runs down his cheeks in tears. His hand is still on his shoulder, blackened and burned.    
  
"Anakin! You were my brother, Anakin!"    
  
There's flames surrounding them. They lick at his skin and he's hot, he's hot, he's hot. His arms and legs are black and cracked and he smells burning flesh and death. He can't breathe and he can't move and he doesn't know where he is, he doesn't know where he is, he doesn't know where he is.    
  
"Anakin!"   
  
Someone shakes his shoulders and the fire is gone and the ringing in his ears stop. He's back in the dark bedroom with Obi Wan worriedly looking at him. Obi Wan's skin is smooth and pale in the moonlight and there's no blackness and there's no fire and he's drenched in cold sweat. He doesn't realize he's shaking until Obi Wan drapes a thick blanket across his bare shoulders, "I'm taking you to the med unit."   
  
He's fine. The medical droids can't find anything wrong with him-- he's perfectly healthy. They go back to their shared quarters as Obi Wan hounds him with questions. He avoids all of them, saying that he just needs some sleep. It's the first night out of many to come that they sleep on separate sides of the bed. He doesn't know how late he stays up-- listening to the other man's breathing and thinking about curling his fingers around his throat; curling his fingers around his throat, curling his fingers around his throat-- until he blacks out.    
  
ii.   
  
The shadows move.    
  
He doesn't dare tell anybody else about them-- he knows Obi Wan is already suspicious enough after that first night. But he still sees them. In the dark corners of the Jedi temple or along the floor next to their bed at night. He's getting worse. He's getting worse. He's getting worse.    
  
They take familiar shapes sometimes. The small frame of a woman swirls and materializes out of the darkness. Her body beaten and her lips cracked. She tells him that she loves him-- oh look how much he's grown; little Ani. He shuts his eyes tightly as tears burn his cheeks. He was too late, he was too late, he was too late.    
  


Other times they’re things he’s too afraid to question. The choked gasps of his best friend. A limp, lifeless body in his blackened arms. A pair of eyes lit with bloodlust. The shadows swirl around him as their pain fills his mind and their dark claws rip away at his skin. The voices whisper of what is to come-- they sneer and spit their horrors into his ears. They tell him this is only the beginning. They tell him there is so much more. They tell him he still has so much to lose. They tell him that he is dangerous. They tell him even stars burn out, Anakin Skywalker. He closes his eyes as their coldness seeps down to his bones. He will not listen. He will not listen. He will not listen. 

  
He can feel the shadows move as they dissipate from their shapes. He can feel them slither up the side of the bed, crawling up his arm and torso. He can feel their coldness as they glide across his skin and force themselves into the cracks of his skull. They fill his body and cloud his thoughts. They shoot through his veins and taint his fingertips with their horrid blackness. He doesn't scream anymore as his vision goes dark and his head feels like it's being ripped apart, ripped apart, ripped apart. This happens every night, now. He keeps it to himself. He doesn't want to worry Obi Wan. 

  
iii.   
  


All things die. 

 

He’s always on edge, now. The shadows are everywhere, whispering to him from dark corners or sliding out to grip his ankles. They tell him of what he must do. Their voices are constantly whispering in the back of his skull. Day or night, it doesn’t matter-- they are everywhere, they are everywhere, they are everywhere. Obi Wan has started to notice the dark bags under his eyes. He doesn’t talk to him about it, though. They both know he doesn’t sleep anymore. 

 

He doesn’t even come to bed. Sometimes, Obi Wan will wander out of their bedroom in the middle of the night to find him standing with his hands clutched behind his back as he looks out the big, paneled windows to the city below. He’ll feel the other man wrap his arms around his waist and rest his chin against his shoulder, asking him to come back to bed.  _ Do it _ , the voices whisper and he tightens his jaw as he refuses both of them. Obi Wan will drop his arms, hurt stabbing through their bond as he hears the other man’s feet softly pad across the floor as he goes back to bed. He will stay awake all night, his eyes becoming more and more bloodshot as he fights against the voices. He cannot keep fighting forever; they’re getting stronger, getting stronger, getting stronger. 

 

Then, one night, he comes to bed. His body is failing from exhaustion as he drops down onto the bed-- feeling it dip under his weight as he shuts his eyes. He feels Obi Wan move next to him. He feels his hand stroke through the soft curls of his hair. He feels his lips against his cheek. His hands tighten into fists as his palms itch, his palms itch, his palms itch. The voices are yelling at him,  _ screaming _ into his ears as they taint his fingertips with their ink. Obi Wan’s hand slides under his shirt and across his back and his arms shake with rage. 

 

“Anakin?”

 

He can feel the shadows slide up his arms as he tries to fight them. His hands are shaking as they turn dark and he fights to keep them in their fists. 

 

“Anakin, are you alright?”

 

His hands slowly unclench and he’s failed, he’s failed, he’s failed. He feels the shadows pierce his lungs and he gasps as his eyes fill with bloodlust and his heart swells with darkness. Suddenly, he’s above Obi Wan. His eyes are dead as his blackened hands curl around his throat and he sits on the other man’s chest with his full weight. 

 

Obi Wan’s eyes go wide as he chokes and gasps and claws at his wrists with his fingers. The blackness is creeping from his fingers onto his throat as he chokes him. He sees Obi Wan’s eyes fade as they close slowly and his lips snarl animalistically as he tightens his grip. The man lurches underneath him and they lock eyes as the life slowly fades from Obi Wan and he falls, dead, onto the bed. 

 

He collapses with exhaustion as he falls sideways onto the bed. His eyes slowly flutter open as he uses what little strength he has left to sit up. He can feel his heart explode in his chest and his eyes go wide as he sees what he’s done, sees what he’s done, sees what he’s done. 

 

Obi Wan lays, lifeless and limp on the bed with angry red scratches painting his white neck. He looks down at his shaking hands to see blood underneath his fingernails. His skin is stunningly pale as he examines them, his entire body trembling. There is a moment of blinding white when he realizes that there was no shadows. That there was no darkness. That it was him and only him; Anakin Skywalker. That it  _ is _ him. That he is the darkness and he is the shadows. 

 

There is a moment of blinding white, blinding white, blinding white, when he realizes that Anakin Skywalker has been killed long ago and he is the horrid monster that has taken his place. 


End file.
